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mischievousmoony · 1 month ago

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𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟺

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. but you won't let regulus be left behind . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 4.6k

⟢ warnings: angst, past abuse from parents referenced/discussed, (spoiler) the reader has to hide from walburga briefly, please let me know if there are any other warnings i need to add

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ part 4 ⟡ masterlist

note: apologies for the long wait! i love u all so much for being so patient with me

It was dark when you woke up, still curled up on the purple floral sheets where you had cried yourself to exhaustion.

As you stirred awake, there was a single moment of peace, where your mind was at ease, untethered from your burdens and heartache. But having that moment of serenity only made it harder when it all came crashing down on you.

All at once you remembered where you were, why you were there, why Regulus wasn't with you, and why— in a place filled with so much love— you had never felt more alone.

It made you want to scream. Or roll over and find solace in your dreams once more. It would be no use, you decided, because you'd have to face reality at some point. And the growing pit of dread in your stomach was getting harder to ignore anyway.

Still groggy from your accidental slumber, you pushed yourself up in the bed, your bones crackling under your weight.

It was hard to see anything in the little room. Someone had drawn your curtains closed while you slept. When you tried to find your way to the light switch, you nearly ended up falling flat on your face after tripping over something large obstructing your path.

Your trunk— which you could see once you switched the light on— had also been brought to your room while you were sleeping.

You looked down at yourself. Still engulfed in James' sweats, you decided a change of attire was in order and retrieved a pair of trousers and a Hogwarts sweater from your trunk.

As you took the sweater into your arms, something else from your trunk fell to the ground with a clang. You held your breath as you bent down to pick up the fallen item: your emerald bracelet. You handled the vintage jewelry with care as you plucked it from the floor.

You stepped backwards until the back of your legs touched the bed, where you sat as you cradled the bangle in your palms. The emerald-encrusted bracelet, a family heirloom, belonged to a set of three.

Along with your bracelet, there's a ring made up of a wide gold band etched with celestial carvings and a large emerald as its center stone. It belonged to Sirius, who often had his fingers decorated with rings, but never this one. You wouldn't be surprised if he had left it at Grimmauld Place, with how little he cared for it. To him, it's just another symbol of everything he stands against.

The third piece was a gold chain on which a large emerald pendant hung. It belonged to Regulus, who always wore it proudly. Not because it was an ancient heirloom that marked him as the second son of the house of Black. No, he wore it because it is one of three, just like him. He wore it because it's something he shared with you and Sirius.

You knew this because he told you himself. It was one of the many reasons that led you to believe he would never choose to stay behind when you and Sirius left that house. Not without a reason.

Finding the bracelet filled you with sharp determination. Sirius and James could doubt Regulus all they wanted, but you were not going to give up on him. And if they weren't going to help you, then you would just have to get to Regulus on your own.

You slid the bracelet onto your wrist, the cool metal settling against your skin as you rose from the bed. Restless, you began to pace around the small room. It felt reckless, maybe even insane, but the conviction gnawing at you wouldn’t let go. You had to get back to Grimmauld Place. No matter the danger, no matter the cost— you wouldn't give up on your twin.

But it's not like you could floo right into the drawing room or walk in through the front door. In a perfect world, you'd be able to talk to Regulus without alerting your parents of your return. You didn't know how you would manage that if you couldn't even come up with a way to get back into the house. You didn't even know the way back.

James or Sirius would probably come up with some creative— albeit convoluted— plan that would get you in and out safely and swiftly. You ignored the pang in your chest as you remembered that you couldn't ask them for help.

Hot with frustration, you moved to the window to let in some air. With your fingers on the latch, you paused. Looking through the glass at the back garden, an idea finally came to mind. A slightly insane, definitely convoluted, reckless idea that might just be crazy enough to work. It's not unlike one you'd have expected James to come up with. If you hadn't been actively going against his will, he might have even been proud.

You pretended to try to talk yourself out of it as you collected some stationery from your trunk. As you scribbled on the parchment, you thought to yourself about everything that could go wrong. What would James and Sirius tell you, you wondered, and you realized you're only pretending to consider not doing this for their sake. As if that would do them, or your relationships, any good.

Finished, you lifted the parchment to eye level. A letter to Regulus— dated, signed, and addressed, but otherwise blank. Now, you just needed to get it to Glory, and follow the owl across the countryside on James' broom. Nothing you couldn't handle, right?

With one hand gripping the doorknob and the other clutching both the letter and your wand, you drew a deep, steadying breath. Just as you began to turn the knob, a soft staccato of knocks on the wood stopped you cold.

On the other side of the door, James was calling your name in a hushed tone.

"Are you awake?" he asked when he was answered with nothing but silence.

He was muffled by the door that stood between you, but you could still hear the deep, burdened sigh that escaped his lips. You let your forehead rest against the cool wood in front of you, imagining him doing the same.

"Are you... are you listening? You don’t have to open the door. Just… just let me know you’re there. Please."

Despite the lack of response, James didn't leave. Instead, his voice softened, laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything— I just need you to hear me." His voice wavered, but he pushed through. "I... Shit, I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make it better, and all I want is to make it better."

He paused, exhaling shakily. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip until it hurt, almost unable to bear hearing James speak with so much devastation in his voice.

"I know how much Regulus means to you, and I know there’s nothing I can say or do that will make this okay. Merlin, you deserve so much better than all of this. You all do."

His voice broke slightly as he continued. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I told Sirius everything. I was just scared for you. But I betrayed your trust. I can’t take it back, but I need you to know how deeply sorry I am."

There was another pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost pleading. "I’m so, so sorry."

"Stop," your voice hit your ears before your brain approved the dialogue. "Stop it, please. You don't have anything to be sorry for James."

James' breath hitched in his throat, your sudden reply coming unexpectedly.

You swallowed hard as you worked up the courage to continue. "I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry. If you could ever forgive me–"

"Nothing," James interjected almost too quickly. "Nothing you could ever do could make me not be able to forgive you. Please, open the door."

You felt a pang in your chest. If only he knew.

"I'm not going to do that," you choked out, doing everything not to break down into tears again. "I just need to... I need some time. I need to be alone."

James released another shaky breath. "I understand," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from cracking. After a beat, he adds, "I love you."

You screwed your eyes shut tight, fighting down a sob. Such soft-spoken words from James were usually a comfort, but something ugly was twisting deep inside you, telling you that you were undeserving of his affection.

"I love you too," you whispered, your words sincere.

After a few moments, you heard James' footsteps retreat softly down the hall. You backed away from the door, letting out a breath you've been straining to hold in as you drive the heel of your palms into your eyes, willing yourself not to cry.

You took a few deep breaths until your emotions were in check. Your mind was reeling, you still needed to get out of this house, but you didn’t want to risk running into James after that.

Your eyes settled on the window in your room, and you sighed. It was less than ideal, but it was an idea.

A burst of cool air hit you as you opened the window as far as it would go. Squinting, you could see that the shed’s window was still open. Perfect.

You raised your wand, “Accio James’ broom.”

A moment passed before James’ broom began flying out of the shed window, just barely fitting through the open space. The broom hovered outside your window when it arrived.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves, then hoisted yourself out the window and onto the broomstick.

You allowed yourself a little laugh. There was a not-so-small chance you’d have slipped and gone tumbling to the ground, and probably broken a few bones in the process, so you were happy you survived your first hurdle. Although you expected that there would be many more to come.

The next part was the easy part. Get the letter to Glory.

You flew down slowly, crossing your fingers that no one was looking out a window right now. As far as you could tell, no faces could be seen in any of them.

Thankfully, the Potter’s owl was still on his perch. You hovered before him and held up your letter, “Hi again. You think you can get this to my brother? It’s not a terribly long flight to Grimmauld Place, is it?”

Once again, owls cannot talk. Yet, you find yourself speaking to Glory as if he’d answer. Still, something about the way the owl looked at you told you it shouldn’t be a very long flight indeed.

“Alright, then,” you handed the letter over, and the owl snatched it with his beak and immediately took off.

“Well, wait for me!” you whispered-yelled, and took off yourself.

You couldn’t believe you were actually following an owl to Grimmauld Place. From the way he glanced back at you, neither could he. Glory kept looking at you, and if an owl could look perplexed, they would look like this.

You didn’t know that a person could be so cold and sweat so profusely all at once. It was freezing this high in the sky, but the reason for your violent trembling was more likely your nerves as you tried to pretend a fall from this height wouldn’t ensure your untimely death. You were actually kind of thankful that the temperature was nearly freezing your fingers to the handle of the broom.

Eventually, your familial home was in your line of sight. You began to slow down to plan how you would sneak in when you realized the owl wasn’t being so careful.

“Wait, wait,” you called quietly after him, but he either didn’t hear you or he ignored you.

The bird flew straight to the window of Regulus’ room and began pecking at the glass. You followed slowly.

Your lips parted and eyes widened when Regulus appeared in the window. His eyebrows knit together as he opened the window for the owl. He retreated into his room, but he left the window open.

Your heart felt heavy at the sight of him. He looked worn out, and his eyes looked sunken, and it was as if the past few days had aged him by years.

You slowly flew over to his open window. He didn’t notice you hovering outside of his room, and you didn’t know how to alert him of your presence without scaring him.

You decided to knock on the window as if it were a door.

Regulus’ head snapped in your direction. He was half expecting another owl, so when he saw you, he gasped and crossed the room in two strides.

“What the hell!” he hissed. “Get in, get in.” Regulus ushered you through the window, broom and all, and you dismounted once you were inside.

“You can’t be here, are you mad?! How...?” Regulus looked between you and the Potter’s owl. “You followed a bird here!?” His tone was hushed, but filled with worry and perhaps a little anger.

“I had to see you,” you explained. “I- I don’t understand what happened, Regulus. Why didn’t you come with us?”

Regulus opened his mouth but just as quickly clamped it shut, trying his best not to snap at you. His eyes studied your frame. You were still shivering, and your forehead was slick with sweat, stray hairs glued down to your forehead.

And your eyes. The emotions swimming in your eyes— the confusion, the sadness, the helplessness— the sight of it made Regulus choke on his own breath.

Your brother set aside his anger at your foolishness to stop forward and wrap his arms around you, his hand finding the back of your head to cradle you close as his other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

“You can’t be here,” Regulus repeated. “They can’t find you here.”

You pulled away from the embrace to look at him. “Then let’s go. We can follow the owl back to the Potter’s. We’ll both fit on the broom.”

Regulus’ expression was unreadable as he said, “I can’t leave, Y/N.”

Frustration pumped through your veins. You didn't come all this way just for him to refuse. “Well, neither can I. Not without an explanation.”

You sat yourself on Regulus’ bed with your arms crossed, determined not to move until you got what you wanted.

Regulus' nostrils flared at your stubbornness. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but you're going to have to accept it. I'm not leaving. But you are getting back on that broom before you are caught. It isn't safe."

“That means it’s not safe for you either."

“I can handle myself,” Regulus insisted.

You frowned. You were tired of your brothers thinking they could deal with everything on their own. “You wouldn't have to if you would just come with me!”

“I can’t!” he snapped, his fist closing on the empty letter from the owl. He balled it up in frustration and tossed it into the nearby bin.

“You can’t just say that and not explain,” you seethed. “Why!? Why can’t you leave? Why- why didn’t you help Sirius after-“

You bit your lip and focused on keeping tears from welling in your eyes.

Regulus was silent, so you continued, “He said you left him there on the floor. But you wouldn’t have done that. You wouldn’t have. Please, Regulus, help me understand.”

Your words hung in the air like a heavy weight on your chest as you waited for Regulus to respond— for him to explain it all so that you could finally understand what went wrong.

Instead, he didn't even flinch when he told you, "I did. I left him there."

You knew Regulus better than anyone, but sometimes even you couldn't see past his hard exterior.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely reaching above a whisper.

When Regulus didn't answer, you stood. Stepping up to him, you asked again, "Why? Why would you do that? He was alone, hurt, and you left him? Sirius thinks you've chosen them over us. Is that true? Is that why you did it? Is that why you're staying?"

Regulus stared at you, his face void of any emotion or reaction, even as your tears threatened to spill.

"Answer me!" you raised your voice.

Regulus' eyes went wide as he shushed you sharply. He stalked off towards the door, pressing his ear against it to listen for any movement. His body remained rigid until several seconds later, when he was sure you weren't heard.

He wouldn't be so concerned for you if he had really chosen your parents, you're sure of it.

"All you've ever done is try to protect me. Sirius too, even if he thinks he's the one who always protected us. So it just doesn't make sense..." You paused, the realization hitting you. "Unless you couldn't help Sirius, could you? Mother told you not to? She threatened you? She threatened him?"

You grabbed Regulus by the shoulder to spin him back around to face you. "If you helped Sirius she would have done worse, wouldn't she have? He would have paid for your disobedience."

His brow twitched, and that was all you needed to see.

"You need to leave," Regulus spoke clearly, but his voice was just above a whisper. There was a coldness in his tone, but you knew he only put it there to hide the truth.

"I'm right, tell me I'm right," you pleaded with him.

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but it snapped closed in an instant. There were footsteps in the hall coming closer. Light clacking that could only belong to your mother.

Regulus wrenched you towards his bed by your arm. “Under the bed at once,” he hissed, as he slid James’ broom under there too. You managed to crawl beneath his bed as soon as his door swung open. Even Glory fled out the window before her arrival.

“Mother,” Regulus greeted her, folding his hands behind his back and straightening his spine.

Her eyes darted around the room, and his tense frame, trying to find something out of place but coming up short. “What are you doing? I heard voices.”

“Kreacher was just in, I was speaking to him," Regulus lied easily. It was one of his strongest skills.

“Kreacher!” Walburga shrieked, and you flinched at the sound. You pressed your palms flat against the hardwood beneath you, grounding yourself as the familiar fear and trepidation quickly settled in after just a few moments in her presence.

With a crack, Kreacher appeared in Regulus’ room, bowing to your mother and brother upon his arrival.

“Were you just in here? With Regulus?” she asked him, not tearing her gaze away from her son for even a second.

But Kreacher stood frozen in place where he bowed at Regulus, his height giving him a clear view of the space beneath Regulus’ bed. He was making eye contact with you.

You watched in horror as Kreacher opened his mouth, alarm in his eyes.

“Kreacher,” Regulus’ voice interrupted him in a low tone. To your mother, Regulus was scolding him for his late reply. But Kreacher knew it was an order more than anything else— Regulus was commanding his loyalty.

The house elf made eye contact with Regulus for a moment before finally giving an answer to Walburga.

“Kreacher was just in Master Regulus’ room,” the house-elf lied. He never did favor anyone like he favored Regulus, not even Walburga. “Master Regulus requested material for reading, he did. Kreacher is seeing to it, of course. Kreacher always serves the young master well, yes, always.”

“Very well, go on then,” Walburga dismissed him.

Kreacher looked at you one last time before snapping his fingers and disappearing from the room.

“Reading materials?” Walburga inquired.

“There are articles I’m looking to obtain. Articles referenced in the last issue of the Daily Prophet.”

Your mother considered the information for a moment before she finally decided she was satisfied with the answer. But before leaving, she stepped closer to Regulus. She gently laid a bony hand on the side of his face, patting his cheek.

“You’re a good boy, Regulus. My son. My heir.”

Her voice, the way she carried herself— it was as cold as ever. But there was something else, something somber. But her words struck you, and it felt like your heart stopped. That was perhaps the most tender thing she’s said to one of her children in years, and yet, hearing her speak to Regulus like that made your blood run cold.

After she left, you and Regulus remained frozen for several seconds. You had to be sure she was far away before making a move. Even a creak in the floorboards would have been too loud.

When you finally reemerged from under his bed, he hissed in a quiet whisper, “You need to go now.”

You ignored him. "She called you her heir."

"Y/N-"

"Sirius is the heir."

Regulus took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not anymore."

You stared at Regulus expectantly. It's a wonder why he still expected you to take things for what they were when you've never let him off the hook without an explanation before.

"She burned you off of the tapestry. Both of you," Regulus explained grimly.

You're not sure how to feel about getting disowned. You slumped against one of the posts of Regulus' bed. You were the one who ran away, you didn't want to be a part of this family anymore. So why does your mother's rejection still sting?

“Now she spends hours sitting in that room, staring at the holes in the wall. She almost seems... devastated." He wasn’t saying it to garner sympathy for her but rather to comment on the peculiarity of it.

You're reminded that beneath her cruelty and coldness, she’s still a mother, your mother, and you suddenly felt very sick.

"And now you're the sole heir. And that's why you have to stay. They need to have their heir," you said in a frail voice, finally understanding.

Regulus' clenched jaw gave you all the confirmation you needed. Your parents didn't care for much, but the legacy of your family was something they certainly did care a great deal about.

Regulus sighed. "We don't give you enough credit for how smart you are. I can never hide a thing from you."

You shook your head. "It has nothing to do with smarts. You're my twin. I'll always figure you out eventually." After a beat, you added, "It's not fair."

“But it's how it has to be.”

You opened your mouth again, willing yourself to make one final protest even though you were sure now how this would end.

A loud crack cut you off. Kreacher was back— and he was not alone.

“James?” you gaped at the tall boy who was violently swinging his head around, taking in his surroundings, until his gaze settled on you.

Regulus quickly cast a Muffliato charm on his room. You were one thing—James Potter was another entirely, and he absolutely couldn't be trusted to keep his voice down.

“You’re okay,” James said, rushing to you. His hands came to rest on your arms as he inspected you, making sure it was really true. “What were you thinking coming here?”

“How did you find me?” you asked him, standing up straighter.

“Kreacher found the intruder apparating into Miss. Y/N’s bedroom,” Kreacher drawled before promptly disapparating from the room.

“I checked everywhere at home and you weren’t there and I- I just knew. How did you-?” James’ eyes landed on his broom sticking out from under Regulus’ bed. “You flew here!? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” James fussed, cupping the side of your face.

James’ overwhelming concern for you made him forget where the two of you were— and the company you were in.

“You have to be kidding me,” Regulus muttered.

You slowly turned your head to face him, and James let his hands fall to his sides.

“Him?” Regulus asked, shooting a disdainful look at James.

“Reg-”

Regulus held a hand up, stopping you. His scrutinizing gaze settled on James. He wasn't going to argue against this, he knew it would be futile to try to tell you who was and wasn't good enough for you— even if he thought James Potter was definitely not good enough.

But at least James would be good for one thing: getting you out of here.

“You’ve seen the effects of my mother’s stinging jinx,” Regulus more so stated than asked.

“Yes,” James replied plainly, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“Mine is worse,” Regulus said— a very simple threat of what would happen if James were to hurt you.

James swallowed. “Noted. But trust me, mate, you won’t have to use it.”

Regulus squinted at him, but left the threats at that. “At least this explains your ridiculous attire,” he told you.

You looked down. You never did change out of James’ baggy clothes.

“Look, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe,” James pleaded with you.

“I know, I know,” you agreed, catching James completely off guard. He did not expect it to be that easy.

He turned to Regulus, thinking he might as well try his luck. “You’re more than welcome to come.”

You and Regulus shared a glance, but even before you saw the somber look in his eyes, you knew what his answer would be.

“He’s not coming,” you murmured, barely able to accept it even as you spoke it.

There was a flicker of something in Regulus' eyes, like something in him was more at peace with your understanding of his need to stay.

James nodded. “If you ever change your mind…” he offered, his words dying in the air as Regulus’ expression hardened.

James took hold of you and his broom, telling you to brace yourself, as he prepared to apparate you back to his house. You have never apparated yourself, you have yet to learn how, but have alongside others before. The idea of doing it again made you feel queasy.

“Wait.” Regulus’ voice halted you. He crossed the room in two strides while fishing something out of his pocket. “Don’t tell Sirius. Not any of it,” he instructed as he pressed something cold into your palm and closed your hand around it.

“What?” you asked, taken aback by the request.

“You can’t tell him why I have to stay. He'll never accept it.”

You shook your head violently. If Sirius only knew Regulus' true intentions, everything could be different.

“He hates you right now.”

“I know. And perhaps it’s better if he does.”

His words crushed you, but you couldn’t help but think he might be right. You lunged at Regulus, wrapping your arms around him one last time.

"I'll still see you at school," he reminded you, a fragile attempt at offering you comfort.

“I know,” you responded, but that did nothing to ease your sorrows.

Regulus was the first to pull away, knowing you wouldn’t be, and he handed you back over to James. “Take care of my sister, Potter,” Regulus said, even as he still looked at James with disdain.

James nodded, linking his arm with yours and clutching his broom in his other hand.

James disapparated the both of you, and you clung to the image of Regulus until your surroundings melted away.

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x black!reader #james potter x you #james potter #james potter angst #fem!reader #marauders #marauders era #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era fanfic #marauders fanfiction #twin!regulus #angst

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optimusxwbu · 2 months ago

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*ೃ༄ idw megatron x fem human reader x tarn 18+

-> warnings/tags: 18+, threesome, rough sex, anal, pre-established relationships. 7.7k words. lil bit of fluff at the end <3

-> minors dni, you will be blocked!!

stealth bomber megatron and tarn makes my brain go hnnnfffhhh— it's always been my dream to be a decepticon spitroast— i mean what who said that??

꒷꒦︶꒷ ❤︎ ꒦︶꒷꒦

There’s a dimness to this room, the air heavy with the many sins that the Decepticon cause carries. The only saving grace is a dark purple hue that hugged the walls, running upwards until it scattered on the ceiling, accompanied by a lighter purple spotlight that shone upon the throne at the very back of the room, illuminating he who so rightfully belonged there.

In this moment, you were sitting on the armrest of said throne, kneeling with your hands tucked in your lap, your back straight as a pin and body angled towards the tyrannical warlord, but his most loyal servant still within your peripheral vision.

A delicate purple material akin to chiffon hugged around your body, haltered at the neck and about mid-thigh length, adorned with a synthetic elasticated rubber belt that was fashioned from Tarn’s worn-out tyres, pulling the fabric to sit form-fittingly around your waist. Apart from that, you wore a thick silver choker, paired with matching bangles that sat loosely on your wrists. These were repurposed from Megatron’s armour, his gift to you not long after you came under his care.

The throne was a tower, the backrest jagged with shattered metal that had so meticulously been woven together to create a beautiful replication of the Decepticon insignia, which was partially obstructed from your view by the leader himself.

A coy grin was spread on his lips, glowing red optics looking down to Tarn before him, bent down on one knee with his right servo placed over the front of his chassis, left servo resting on his knee, masked still fixed onto that stunning face.

You didn’t dare tear your eyes from your Lord and Master, not when he demanded such attention with his presence alone. Not even Tarn could bring you out of that hypnosis.

The DJD had been called to the Nemesis, the Peaceful Tyranny docked within a port within the titan of a ship. Where the rest of the DJD currently were aboard this ship, who could say? All you knew was that you and Tarn had been personally summoned to the throne room. Alone.

Through a set of unfortunate circumstances, you found yourself aboard the Nemesis just over a year ago and unable to get back to your home. Megatron, the grandfather of all biophobia, surprisingly entertained your presence and didn’t string you up in the brig. He treated you more like a pampered pet than anything, seeing no harm in keeping you.

That was until the leader of his infamous DJD started making regular trips back to the Nemesis, parading his team around. He intrigued you, and you found yourself looking forward to when Tarn would grace this boring ship with his presence again.

So, a few months ago, whilst Tarn was back to report on his latest escapades, you sweet-talked Megatron into allowing you to have a field trip with Tarn and his crew. That’s how you ultimately found yourself on the Peaceful Tyranny.

The light in Megatron’s optics shifted over to you, grin never faltering.

“So, how are your adventures with Tarn, little one?” His booming voice cuts through the heaviness in the air.

You nodded eagerly, “Very well, my Lord. I enjoy them very much.”

If possible, his beam widened, a slight hum rising from his vocaliser. But it was a grin of gratification, more so deviousness.

“I hear he treats you well,” Megatron notioned towards his rabid dog with a lazy gesture of his servo, “I hear you enjoy it very much.”

What was he getting at?

Neither you nor Tarn said anything to that. A short ex-vent pushed from Megatron’s lips.

“Well, I’ve only heard this because your team hear it, the noises carried throughout the vents of your ship,” Megatron looked to Tarn, “most solar cycles, apparently, according to them.”

The tone he carried was hard to read, but what his insinuations were loaded with was undeniable. The look in his optics didn’t help with the approachability of the situation, as you truly weren’t sure how he felt about that.

Silence still hung between you.

“Tell me,” Megatron angled his head back towards you, a slow dip of his head to the side, “is it true?”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of your skirt, unable to move, any words you could have said lodged within your throat as if you might choke on them. You just stared at him, wide-eyed and unmoving.

A single digit lifted to underneath your chin, the size of it completely dwarfing you. He tipped your head to look at him closer, the denta-bared grin on his face nothing short of predatory now.

“My Lord–” Tarn’s staticky vocaliser spoke up, for the first time.

“I’m not talking to you,” Megatron quipped, without even looking at him, “I’m talking to my sweet pet.”

“No need to be shy, little starlight,” the pet name rolled off his tongue with ease, “does Tarn have his way with you in his berth, as has been reported to me? Or are the rest of the team lying to me?”

Tarn’s optics shone unbelievably bright. You weren’t sure that he had any idea what repercussions would come of this, either.

Not completely trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you, you shook your head before quietly voicing a hushed, “no.”

“No?”

“No, they aren’t lying to you,” you finally found the breath within your lungs to carry you through the sentence, but your voice was timid.

But with the gates open, and you falling so dangerously into the blood-red pool of his eyes, you continued to speak, “he takes me most nights, I have no doubts that the others have heard, I cannot help it.”

A delighted huff came from Megatron, with a playful glint in his eyes, “oh so he really does treat you that well, hm?”

You could only nod.

“Well then,” his optics found his way back to Tarn, “I’d like to be shown how well you take care of my pet. I want to know that she truly is in good hands.”

Oh.

This isn’t at all where you were expecting this to go.

If anything, you were anticipating Tarn’s helm rolling on the floor, and you crushed in his hand like an insignificant insect.

Tarn could not bring himself to lift his head, his processor overheating with the situation. Was Megatron asking for him to fuck you? Here? In front of him?

At his core, Tarn was awkward and introverted, they were his self-proclaimed vices that he never managed to vanquish from when he was still Damus. He was thankful that he could hide behind his mask in this moment.

However, his desire to follow Megatron’s every command to the syllable reigned supreme over his awkwardness, so he muttered a short acknowledgement of the orders given, which you were surprised was audible through the mask.

“Such a fearsome Decepticon, who terrifies even the mightiest of both factions,” Megatron’s head cocked, “but here he is, cowering before his master at the simple order to demonstrate his prowess,” Megatron mocked.

“Help him,” Megatron jutted his head to Tarn, “won’t you, starlight?” Megatron offered his servo out to you for you to climb into.

You didn’t hesitate to bring yourself up onto your feet, ignoring the slight sensation of pins and needles darting through your calves from being seated in that position for so long. Your hand rested on his claw for balance as you stepped into his palm.

Megatron lowered you down to the floor, still sitting on his throne, you gripped harder onto his claw for balance as your eyes remained on Tarn throughout your descent.

You jumped out of Megatron’s servo, your bare feet hitting the cold metal of the throne room, and the billowy fabric of your dress flowing up behind you.

“Tarn,” you spoke, your heart pounding in your chest as you slowly began to approach him. He wasn’t mass displaced yet, but even with him kneeling down, he was still like a skyscraper over you.

His optics shone so vividly that there was a dim red reflection bouncing off the floor, his helm still angled downwards.

“Tarn,” you repeated, more pleading weighted in your voice this time.

Now, he brought his helm up to look at you.

Without another word, he mass-displaced down to a manageable size for a being of your stature. He was just shy of 8ft in this form, which you were more than familiar with.

His orders had been given, and he would most definitely fulfil them.

Tarn closed the gap between you in two long strides, his strong digits on both servos coming down to grasp you by the waist, hauling you closer to him.

You craned your head back to look up at him, eyes skimming over the faint scratches and marks on his mask.

Your soft hands reached up and found their way on either side of his mask, pushing in the clips to unclasp it from his helm. You pulled the metal down, running your thumbs over it as you let it clatter to the floor as delicately as you possibly could.

With his face exposed, you could see the wires and circuits from the gauges on his face pulse with a faint light.

The mech wasted no time in bringing his faceplate down to yours hastily, aiming straight for your lips as he connected the two of you. You sighed into his intake, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you were lifted on your very tippy toes to reach him.

Determined to please his master, Tarn did not stall with his usual pre-lovemaking affection and instead weaved his servos down your body and under your thighs.

In a quick motion, he lifted you and folded your legs around his waist, your back fully to Megatron. Your lips continued to play against each other as Tarn squeezed the plush flesh he found under his servos.

You hummed into the kiss, bringing one servo up to cup the back of his helm to fix him to you even more securely.

One servo abandoned the underside of your thigh and instead wrapped around your waist, settling just over the dip of your spine to fiddle with the knot that kept your makeshift belt around you. He tugged on it until it came undone, then threw it to the side, soon to be long-forgotten.

The fearsome mech gently brought himself to his knees once again, but this time leaning forward so that he could lay you flat on the ground, breaking the kiss in the process.

A subtle gasp slipped through your teeth at the cold surface, the chiffon of your dress not doing much to preserve any warmth.

Your legs fell naturally to settle over the top of his hips whilst his servos skimmed the hem of your dress, half-expecting him to start lifting the material to free you of it.

What you were not expecting was for him to grasp it in both servos, before pulling his arms apart to easily tear through the material, the rip quickly running up to the halter neck of the dress. The material slipped from his digits, the torn remains elegantly flowing down on either side of you to reveal your fully exposed form to him, and by extension, Megatron.

This was one of your nicest garments of clothing, the material scavanged by the Helex and fabricated by Nickel, you’d have to reprimand Tarn later for ruining it.

You peered up at Tarn, doe-eyed as a devilish leer spread across his angelic face.

Megatron now propped his elbow up on the armrest that you were previously perched on, leaning his helm against a fist, legs spread wide as he watched on with building anticipation.

Tarn brought his intake to your neck, his glossa coming out to lick up from your collarbone to the bottom of your ear, which made you shudder slightly with bated breath, a subtle promise of what was to come.

One of his servos found its way to your chest, fondling a breast between strong digits, using them as stress balls as he rolled the pliant flesh between his digits.

Your back arched with that, a shaky breath escaping from you.

Tarn continued his path with his intake down your body, dragging his glossa back down your neck, over your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts.

Retracting his glossa, you felt his smirk as he placed chaste kisses underneath your chest and across your ribcage, all while still playing with your breast. You knew better than to demand anything of Tarn, so you waited with utmost patience for him to relent on this teasing and finally get to where you wanted.

“Our Lord wants to see you pleasured,” Tarn cooed to you when he finally found himself between your legs, “so please don’t hold back any of those sweet sounds you make.”

You looked down at him, nodding your head with a sharp ‘uh-huh’.

Tarn dipped his head down. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, and he snaked his arms underneath your legs, servos finding their place on the top of your thighs to anchor you to him.

Your breath left you as you felt Tarn’s hot glossa press up against your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves. Your fingers found refuge on the top of his helm,

A flurry of moans pitted from your lips, not suppressing a single sound as per his request. His glossa was so languid, you almost couldn’t believe he was mechanical. This was certainly not the first time that his helm found a home between your thighs, and you were more than confident that this would not be the last.

Mewls and whimpers bubbled from you as your nails dug into his helm, silently cursing that he didn’t have anything there that you could grip onto.

Your head fell back, wet eyes glimpsing up at Megatron. Another surprise you weren’t expecting was to see him sitting there with his enormous spike out, digits wrapped loosely around it as he nonchalantly tugged on himself, but the very energy that surrounded him told you that he was incredibly turned on by the sight before him.

The sight alone caused an obscene whimper to force itself from you, your thighs flexing around Tarn’s helm.

Tarn was nothing short of a prodigy at eating you out, his glossa never failed to work miracles on you and he was oh so quick to learn exactly what made you tick.

"Tarn!" you spat with desperation, wrapping your legs more firmly around his helm and neck as he ate you, lapping all of your fluids, not missing a single drop. His intake was coated in your wetness, your body arching up to him whilst your hands pulled him impossibly closer, almost as if you were trying to push him further into your dripping cunt.

You choked on sobs and moans as your legs started to shake around his head. Your hips involuntarily bucked against Tarn as he hummed into the meat of your pussy. You practically screamed out, losing a sense of where you were.

The vibrations of his moans combined with the sinful image of Megatron tugging on his spike were sending you to heights you had never been to before.

Tarn’s powerful servos grip onto the flesh of your thighs tighter, so tight that it felt like he was scared you would slip through his fingers if he dared to let go.

“Pretty girl,” he muffled against you. Your eyes tore from the sight of Megatron to snap down to look at Tarn, being met with the hungry red optics that were boring into you.

Your stomach flipped at his husky voice that was slightly muted because he couldn’t bring himself to part with your intimate area; he would never outwardly admit how addicted he was to your taste.

You had the sweetest honey, right between your legs. He moaned breathlessly as you started to leak into his mouth. He lapped it all up with urgency, eager not to miss any offering that you so graciously gave him.

“Such a horny little thing, aren’t you?” he droned against you as his right servo parted from your thigh, instead reaching up to find your nipple and roll the perk bud between his digits expertly, your voice rising higher and higher with each moment that he provided you with mind blowing pleasure.

“You’ll inflate my ego if you keep on like that,” he nipped at your clit, making you yelp as your body jolted. You pouted with such a sorry expression, eyes dazed as you glanced down to see his head tucked far between your legs.

“I can’t h-help it,” you strained out, “it feels, it feels so fucking good, Tarn!”

Tears were balancing on your waterline as he huffed, “such a foul mouth.”

There was a feeling winding in your lower stomach that you were familiar with, a feeling that came from frustrated and lonely nights, when you took to yourself to relieve those frustrations. The only difference was that this time, the winding knot felt much tighter than usual.

You whimpered as your hands seized each of his wrists, “I- I think I’m-” you tried to stutter out, but you were far too worked up to let out a full sentence.

His glossa was just playing such a melody on you that you couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t control the things that this hulking mech did to you; he got you so hot and bothered any time of the day that you were practically ready at a moment's notice to get onto his spike.

“What a sight,” he practically growled as his glossa circled your clit continuously, “release yourself on my glossa, immediately.”

It was like you were transfixed by his words, his order alone causing the tremors in your legs to increase by tenfold and the knot filling tying so tight that it snapped, releasing the gates to the dam.

You let out an empty scream as your head was thrown back once more, your eyes clenching shut as your orgasm flooded through your nerves. The lump in your gullet only swelled further when you felt his glossa dip down to lick up every drop of your pleasure that you left behind, reaping the rewards of his valiant actions.

The ringing in your ears was curtly cut through by a deep chuckle from Megatron.

“Very good Tarn,” he purred, “but I know there’s more than that.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Tarn complied, begrudgingly slipping himself away from the serenity between your legs, glossa coming out to lick your residual pleasure from his intake.

You sighed at the loss of him, trying to collect yourself. Before you could even register what had happened, Tarn had grabbed your hips and spun you over, settling you on your front.

Your eyes went wide as his grip on your hips lifted your ass, leaving you in the prime position, the one he loved to take you in so much. Your hot breath fogged against the metal surface of the floor as you waited in anticipation for what was to come.

“There’s my good girl,” Tarn praised as you felt his presence hover over your back, feeling the all-too-knowing feeling of his pressurised spike emerging from his interface panel, the length sliding through your slit and bumping your clit.

With a single servo, he gathered both of your wrists and restrained them behind your back, bound by the thick metal of his finger plating.

You choked on a moan as Tarn’s hips drew back and he sheathed himself inside of you entirely, not struggling at all to find your entrance. He knew it so well, after all. He pushed the length of his rich purple spike in you until he was hilted, the warm and buzzing metal of his hip plating coming flush against your ass.

“Fuck her, hard and fast, Tarn,” Megatron ordered with a shit-eating simper as he leant forward in his throne with invested interest.

It took no more convincing than that, Tarn immediately set a brutal pace against you.

One servo wrapped around your wrists as the other settled on the back of your head, pushing your cheek further into the metal as you made the most lustful sounds. You screamed out, back arching slightly and fingers clenching in his hold.

His harsh grunts were almost vibrating as tingles of pleasure ran down your spine from the animalistic sounds. Your body jolted back and forth with each thrust of his hips, spike filling you over and over again until you felt him hit the deepest parts inside of you.

Lust burned your lips as you called his name, the two syllables leaving what might as well be a permanent mark on your tongue.

He couldn’t keep your name out of his mouth either, the feeling of your name just tasted too good in his filthy mouth, his voice staticky.

The noises you made for each other were like a symphony, the noises reaching the tall walls of the room, bouncing around you. You felt so degraded in this position, but you adored it.

Shifting sounds of metal running against metal caused your ears to perk up, but with Tarn’s servo placed firmly on your head, you couldn’t look up to see what was the source of the noise.

There was a temporary moment of relief when Tarn’s servo left your head, but before you could allow yourself to look up, you felt another set of digits tangle within the length of your hair, trailing your head up.

In front of you, a mass-displaced Megatron, all of his beauty in perfect view for you as he was down on his knees. The metal of his denta reflected the minimal lighting in the room so wonderfully.

“Is he making you feel good, starlight?”

“Yes, yes my Lord!”

“Then you should be telling him that,” Megatron challenged.

“Please, Tarn, you’re fucking me so good!” Your moans were perpetual, you didn’t care if you sounded weak or pathetic; you needed it. Frankly, you wouldn’t have been able to stay silent.

Tarn’s optics floundered at the praise, always a sucker for it. He groned loudly before reangling his hips, fucking up into you.

“Yes, yesyesyes right there!” You cried, tears settled in the corners of your eyes, threatening to break free at any moment. You couldn’t help it, his spike was so good it brought you to tears.

Your cunt swallowed him wholly with a welcoming pleasure, your body attempted to make a jerk reaction to toss your head back, but Megatron’s hold on you would not waver.

Your eyes couldn’t help by wander downwards, even with Megatron’s grasp on you, to look at the bobbing and painfully pressurised spike that was situated between your Master's legs.

“Oh, do you like what you see, sweet thing?” Megatron teased.

“I do, Master,” you eagerly responded, unable to help the subtle pout on your lips, “I want it.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined what your organic mouth would feel like around my spike,” he admitted.

Without another moment passing, he forced your head down at a dizzying speed, your only reaction to wolf down a flurry of air.

He thrusted his spike into your willing mouth, hitting the back of your throat with his first movement. You preened at that, tugging against the iron grip that Tarn had your wrists in for some leverage, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Na-uh,” you heard the deep rumble of Tarn’s voice, “you will service our master as he wishes.”

Your eyebrows threaded into a knot as you swallowed around the thick girth of Megatron’s spike, your lips stretched to their furthest ability.

Megatron kept your head steady as he rammed up into your mouth, using it as he saw fit, as heavenly rumbles and groans escaped him. He used your hair as a means to bring your head up and down on him, setting the tone precisely as he wanted it.

“This certainly is unique,” Megatron expressed with pure lust, “such an experience.”

Almost as quickly as it began, he pulled his spike out of your mouth, seemingly only experimenting with the sensation of having it stuffed down your windpipe from this position.

“No, I have a better idea,” Megatron huffed before glancing up to demand Tarn’s attention, who was still rutting ruthlessly into your cunt, but staggered slightly as he stared into his Lord and Masters optics.

“Spin her around,” Megatron commanded.

Tarn’s spike ached, he wanted to release so badly, but he would be damned if he wouldn’t obey.

Tarn slipped out of your wet heat, before manoeuvring you as if you weighed nothing, spinning your body so that you were now facing the ceiling, legs settling onto his thigh struts.

“Perfect,” Megatron stated simply, “you may continue as you were, Tarn.”

Like a loyal dog, Tarn executed the will of his Master and plunged himself back into you, his hands clutched around your waist. Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping onto his servos as he continued to fuck into you, the same heavy pace he set before.

The feeling of his thick cock brutally abusing your walls made you dig your nails into the paint of his metal. Tarn was such a passionate lover, you had noticed over these past couple of months. He was so willing to give in to your body’s every twisted desire.

Megatron cupped his servo under your head again, forcing you to angle your head back towards him, albeit that you were now looking at his upside down.

“Open wide.”

You heeded.

Megatron fisted a chunk of your hair before shoving his spike back down the canal of your neck, the way your head was tipped back allowed him to glide more effortlessly further into the channel.

You moaned around his cock, your eyes blown wide again as your fingers trembled. Megatron, with relative ease, pulled his hips back before lunging back into you, using your throat as a personal spikesleeve.

Tarn couldn’t help the excitement that pulsed through him, captivated by the way your throat expanded as his Masters cock tunnelled through it each time.

His excitement was palpable, you could tell, as his claws dug into the softness of your skin, as his pace was ragged and desperate, like a mech possessed. Your cunt clenched unbelievably tight around him, what little leverage you had allowing you to arch your back further.

You weren’t complaining that he was fucking you, not in the slightest. Actually, you rather enjoyed it. You loved the idea that he couldn’t get enough of you at any moment, how he always longed to be buried inside of your warm pussy.

The ridges of Megatron’s spike glided against the corners of your lips, his biolights pulsing as he chuckled, eyes fixed on the way his spike disappeared into your warm and wet mouth.

You worked your tongue over the top of his dark grey spike, turning it and rolling it over the heated plates that thrummed ever so slightly under your ministrations. Essentially doing everything within your power that you can, considering that this position did not allow for you to bob your head up and down his length.

Despite your best efforts to control yourself, your body betrayed you, as you felt the coil in your stomach string tighter and tighter, unable to resist the pure pleasure you were receiving between your legs and by your mouth. You were so pleased to be of such use to your Master, the thought of it alone causing you to fall off the edge and experience your second orgasm of the evening.

Although you were enjoying this thoroughly, the lack of oxygen was beginning to make your vision blur, one hand leaving Tarn’s to instead press against Megatron’s thigh, mustering any strength you could to try to push him.

But to a mech like Megatron, it was hardly noticeable. Your flat palm slapped against his plating, before curling around the edge of it. Fingers clenching, your muffled moans and cries falling on deaf audial receptors.

You strained, your legs tensing as you tried to convey what you needed, all while still being relentlessly throat-fucked by your Lord. Your saliva coated him, making it easier with each moment to get lost within the tightness of your throat.

Tarn’s lips were parted, heavy ex-vents panting from him as he beheld the sight before him. Primus, he was so close. Watching you take Megatron like this, it was beyond ungodly.

Through his clouded judgement, Tarn came to your defence.

“M-Master,” he sputtered, “she- she cannot breathe.”

A quirk of Megatron’s optical ridge proved that he really hadn’t considered that before he hummed and pulled his spike from your mouth once again, a string of saliva stretching, keeping a trail from your lips to his spike.

You gulped down air in droves, lips quivering as your fingers curled against Megatron’s thigh into a fist.

“T-Thank you, my Lord, you are so gracious,” you managed to say with a sore voice, your eyes burning.

You were not afforded another moment of mercy as Megatron saw fit to stuff himself back into your mouth, however, more shallowly this time. He angled his hips up so that the tip of his spike rubbed against the texture of your tongue, leaving the slightly electrifying taste of his pre-fluid on your taste buds.

“Are you close, Tarn?” Megatron smirked as he addressed his officer.

Tarn shuddered at the intonation of his Master's voice, “embarrassingly close, my Lord.”

His thrusts were nothing short of sloppy now, his end in sight and unable to remain composed, your body did unthinkable things to the mech.

“Release, overload inside of her, Tarn.”

Tarn’s vocaliser cut short as he moaned out, the demand stringing him so tight as he desperately chased his peak. With two more hard barges of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt, pushing his hips even harder into you as he shook gently, head thrown back as he pumped you full of thick ropes of hot pink fluid, far hotter than any human's release.

Your mouth fell open at the feeling, now loosely hanging around Megatron’s tip. Megatron’s optics darkened, a maniacal smile spread on his intake as he watched his favourite pet be filled to the brim with his most loyal officers transfluid.

Like a domino effect, Megatron found his own release in your mouth, but not before shoving the length back down the valley of your throat once again, so that his transfluid spurted deep within and did not allow you to spit it back out, forced to swallow every drop of your master. Who would’ve thought he was such a voyeur?

Megatron pulled away from your mouth, sitting back on the heel of his pedes as he watched you vigorously fight to catch your breath, eyes half-lidded and hazy with Tarn’s spike still buried inside of you, plugging his transfluid inside.

Tarn ran one servo under your back, settling between your shoulder blades as he pulled you up towards his chassis, your cheek resting on his dim pink lights.

“We’re not done,” Megatron proclaimed.

Shivers ran down your spine. How could he not be done?

“Face me, little starlight,” he uttered. You would bend your very existence to his will if that is what he desired.

You took your cheek from Tarn’s chassis, looking over your shoulder to your mighty Master.

On shaky legs, you pulled yourself off of Tarn’s spike, landing on your feet and turning around. Almost immediately, Tarn’s hot pink fluid started to cascade down the inside of your right thigh.

“That’s it,” Megatron drawled as his optics followed the trail of liquid.

“Spread her for me, Tarn,” Megatron continued to dish out orders.

The purple mech snaked an arm around your middle, pulling you back against him as he sat with you on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him.

You mewled, understanding exactly what Megatron’s plan was with you.

Once Tarn settled you to sit on top of him, your back pressed snugly against his chassis, both servos wound back under your thighs and spread them apart, letting Megatron see everything on full display.

Your clit throbbed. Fuck. You wanted this so much more than you ever imagined. Of course, you’d fantasised about having your back blown out by Megatron, but he was so untouchable that you didn’t dare think it possible.

Megatron stalked towards you, lowering himself back down and placing a servo on Tarn’s shoulder.

“Master,” you hushed, just as Megatron began to push Tarn to lie down on his back, bringing you with him. Your hair fell and fanned over the winged plating on Tarn’s chest as you stared at Megatron with awe.

“Do you want me to fuck you, little one?”

The sharp intake of breath took you by surprise, those words triggering something within you that turned you on so much. You could only nod enthusiastically.

“Beg for it,” was the only response received.

He brought up a clawed servo to grip your chin, squishing your cheeks as he brought his face closer to yours, “I want you to beg for it.”

“L-Lord Megatron,” you squeaked, “please- please fuck me, please stick your spike in me, make me scream, make me cum, use me, use my body, please.”

Tarn’s processor was beginning to fry, his spike still fully pressurised, and he yearned to be the mech that you spoke those words to.

Megatron pushed an ex-vent through his intake, optical ridges rising playfully as his optics flittered down to your lips. He used the claw of his thumb to stroke over your bottom lip, which was plump from his previous treatment of your mouth.

“Do you deserve it?”

“I will do anything,” you cooed, “I will do anything for you to fuck me. Please, there’s a boiling heat in me that only you can conquer. Please, I will be so good for you.”

Satiated with your response, Megatron gave into your body’s desire and stuck his spike into your cunt, motion made easier by the flood of transfluid that Tarn had already dumped inside of you.

The moan you let out made your whole body shake, your hands fumbling, not sure where to place them.

“Grab onto me, little one,” Megatron kindly offered.

You were more than happy to oblige him, both hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders as you maintained eye contact with the alien warlord.

The stretch stings, but in a way you were more than willing to welcome. You knew that the spike buried inside you was more like an assault weapon than a sexual appendage, but you were happy to endure it all.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed shakily, “fuck, you’re so big.”

You arched back, coming face to face with him. Your eyes were entirely filled with lust, which made his processor go into overdrive. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to corrupt you and claim you as his entirely.

He fucked up into you, jolting you up and causing your tits to bounce as your lips trembled. You were moaning behind your teeth, your brows knitted in a frown as you sunk your nails into the hard metal of his shoulders.

Something akin to a growl rumbled in his chest as you started to indent little crescent shape marks into his paint, you had sunk your claws into him, and it didn’t seem like you were going to budge anytime soon.

Megatron made a rash move, flying down to kiss you, thick and heavy glossa coming out to find dominance within your mouth. You gasped into the kiss, unable to grasp what was happening.

Tarn was still somewhat in disbelief, readjusting his grip on you to keep you spread as wide as you could go to make room for Megatron, he couldn’t believe how fucking sexy this whole thing was. He’d definitely be self-servicing to the memory of this when you weren’t readily available for him to fuck.

Megatron’s cock was so heavenly as it dragged against your walls, his tip punching against the spongy soft spot inside of you that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

Your eyes clenched shut as you staggered your breathing, the quick mewls and yelps being fucked out of you made Megatron fill with an unusual sense of pride, one he wasn’t so familiar with.

“Such a well behaved pet, your pussy is milking me so nicely, I can’t wait to fill it.”

You choked on air at the dirty talk, your cunt tensing around him as you felt your clit beg for attention with harsh throbs.

You were begging for him to ruin you.

The feeling of your heartbeat around his spike was making him growl in a way that was only proving to make you wetter, his cockhead was so sensitive as it dragged back and forth through your walls that were made for him and his fat spike.

Your fluids mixed with Tarn’s dribbled down Megatron’s spike, out of your hole and down towards your other hole, some of it tripping down onto Tarn and pooling over his cock and interface panel.

“Tell me, Tarn,” Megatron chided, “have you explored the other hole of my pet?”

Your body tensed, something which could only be described as a gentle fear yanking your system.

“Only once, Master.”

“Then show me that, too.”

Tarn nodded profusely. You were strung in bated breath as Tarn’s right servo left your leg, fiddling down underneath you to grip the base of his spike. He guided it up, nestling between your spread cheeks as he rubbed the flowing transfluid over his tip.

“Fuck, Tarn,” you threw your head back against him, “put it in.”

It wasn’t as easy, but Tarn pressed the blunt tip of his spike against your transfluid-soaked hole, pushing his hips up to force your ass to spread over him.

Tarn moaned sultrily, you felt the rumble of it reverberate through his chassis. This was a much tighter hole, harder to get himself into fully, he had already tried once but he proved to be too big for such a task.

Your mouth dropped open, a build-up of saliva running down the inside of your cheeks as you tried to breathe through the sensation of being filled by both of them.

Tarn enveloped his now free arm around your middle, keeping you planted against him. His other servo still on your thigh, never ceasing to keep you spread.

You clutched at straws, trying to regulate your breathing, you were so unbelievably full.

Tarn was normally a very composed and serious mech, but when it came to fucking the living daylights out of you, he couldn’t help the internal instincts that urged him to go absolutely wild, the entirety of his spark swelling with the otherworldly experience of being snug in your ass.

Megatron’s spike was abusing your pussy so perfectly, you thought you were about to ascend to some higher plane. They both knew exactly what to do, they knew exactly where to treat you and at what angle to fuck you senseless.

Each time one pulled out, the other pushed in, meaning that you were never empty. Your body is put to perfect use.

“Do you enjoy being a little spikeslut?” Megatron derided, “so perfectly wrapped around two cybertronians, like you were made for it.”

“I enjoy it,” you spat emphatically, “I love being a little spikeslut for you and Tarn, Master.”

Tarn’s pace picked up behind you, your words clearly doing something for him. He was moaning unabashed, no shame in letting all four walls of this room hear it.

You rolled your hips without even thinking about it, eliciting a startled moan from Megatron.

Oh, you could get used to those sounds. You liked that a lot, the wavering moan that spilled from him; you wanted to make him do that more. You certainly were not expecting to catch him so off guard.

Pulsating heat was already racking your body, threatening to find your tipping point at any given moment.

Your ass throbbing tightly around Tarn was like he was trapped in a velvet heaven, one that he decided he would like to be trapped in often.

“You’re so tight around me, sweet thing,” Tarn whispered in a gravelly tone, “like you’ll never let me go.”

You let out a scream as the servo that was grounding you by your waist instead moved downwards, middle claw rubbing circles on your clit whilst the two digits on either side moved down to spread your lower lips around Megatron’s spike.

“Taking our Master so well,” Tarn praised with a harrumph.

Strangled moans and cries, you pulled on your ecstasy to reach an eventual orgasm.

Megatron gripped your face again, keeping it steady as he bore into your eyes

“I want to see the kind of face you make when you overload,” Megatron growled, “I want to know what it looks like when you succumb to unquantifiable pleasure.”

Your body spasmed around the mechs, your eyes going glassy as you pleaded silently with a higher power. Your mind flashed white, eyes rolled into the back of your head and walls clenching around Megatron, releasing yourself.

Despite his dirty talk, Tarn was the next to follow, not lasting as long as he usually would. A combination of being so overstimulated and being gripped harder than he was used to.

His hips lurched as he released a second load inside of you; you weren’t sure there would be much room for anything else with all the fluid you were being filled with.

Tarn remained lodged inside of you, not wanting to interrupt the jackhammering of Megatron’s hips to drive his spike in and out of you; he too was very nearly on the edge of a climax.

With a guttural moan, vocaliser faltering intermittently, Megatron followed you both down the path of mind-breaking orgasm and shot a heavy dose of transfluid into your heat, as deep as he could go.

You were sure that if you peered down, you’d see your stomach swollen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Your hair stuck to the sweat that glistened over your neck, your pants hot and heavy as your eyes struggled to remain open.

Tarn brought the servo that was on your thigh to pull back some of your hair, leaning down to press a kiss against the side of your face.

Megatron was the first to pull out of you, leaving you gapingly empty.

Tarn smoothed a servo over your soft hair before also bringing himself out of your other hole. The purple mech sat up, causing your body to fold slightly.

Both of your holes gushed with fluid, almost uncomfortably wet.

Megatron’s spike retracted as he looked down on Tarn soothing you after an incredibly intense session.

You were too fucked-out, too tired, to bring yourself to say anything. So instead, you hummed gently as you lazily peered up at Megatron, who was now standing with an amused smirk.

“It seems the reports were right, Tarn treats you exceptionally well.”

You smiled shallowly at that, mustering all your energy to respond with a simple nod.

“Do you wish to stay with him, starlight? Or would you like to come back under my care now?” Your Master queried, but it didn’t feel like a challenge.

You mulled over the question, rolling your head back to look up at Tarn’s handsome face, taking in the intricacy of his wiring that was exposed to you. Realising that you really had grown quite fond of the brutal mech.

“I want to stay with Tarn, my Lord. I don’t think I could bear being apart from him now.”

Tarn’s spark fluttered with that, not expecting you to choose him. Of course, if it was what you wanted and Megatron commanded, he would have handed you back without protest, but a selfish part of him wanted to keep you.

He didn’t dare display his affection for you in front of his Master, mainly out of respect and also partially fear, but he so desperately wanted to kiss you tenderly in this moment.

“Very well,” Megatron concluded, “consider her yours, Tarn.”

Tarn bowed his head. “You are so very courteous, Lord Megatron. You honour me.”

Megatron reverted back to his original size, traipsing over to his throne and sitting down on it once again, back to business.

Tarn followed suit, stepping away from you as to not hurt you before growing back to his intimidating natural size. You sat on the cold floor, with nothing to cover yourself and fluids leaking unceremoniously from you.

“I have other business to address with you,” Megatron motioned to Tarn, “but I’ll allow you to take her back to the Peaceful Tyranny before we discuss further.”

“Understood, my Liege,” Tarn responded, before reaching down to scoop you up in his servo. You rested in his palm, still sitting on your backside, before Tarn picked up the abandoned scraps of your chiffon dress, bringing it to settle beside you in his palm.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Back on the Peaceful Tyranny after Tarn had received his new set of orders from Megatron, the scraps of your dress lay over the end of the berth, kept so that it could be salvaged and refitted to you.

Tarn and you were laying on the berth on your sides, facing each other. One hand settled over his chassis as the other was placed behind his neck.

The kiss was deep and passionate, slow and sensual. Tarn’s arm wound snugly around your waist as he pulled you closely to him, your legs intertwined together.

The mech’s other servo was placed under your head, shielding you from the uncomfortable metal of his bare berth.

“You did so well today,” Tarn mused against your lips, “my pretty little songbird.”

“Songbird?” You harrumphed against his lips, questioning the new term of endearment, the smile on your face purely authentic.

“That’s what you are,” Tarn reasoned, “with all those melodic sounds you make.”

You quirked a brow, a huff of a laugh coming from you, “mmhm?”

Tarn reconnected your lips, deciding he wanted to be entangled with you again. His lips always moved so delicately against you, as if he were mindful that your skin might catch on his torn faceplate and hurt you.

His clawed thumb rubbed affectionately against your cheek, this was a side of him that you weren’t accustomed to. Although he was horny all of the time, always trying to get into your underwear, he was rarely ever romantically disposed.

Maybe what you said in the throne room, when confronted with a choice, pulled on whatever sparkstrings he had left.

#transformers #maccadam #megatron x reader #valveplug #idw tarn #tf tarn #mtmte tarn #tarn x reader #transformers x reader

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weddingchuda8 · 1 year ago

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Discover our elegant Silver Jhumkis Bangles Set. Perfect for any occasion, these pieces add timeless beauty to your collection. Shop now for exquisite style!

#wedding chura set #bridal chura set #indian wedding bangles set #punjabi wedding bangles #metal bangles #wedding chura #wedding bangles set #jhumar set #metal bangles set #traditional chura #Instagram

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differentbouquettree · 2 months ago

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#western earrings #necklace set #black jhumka design #black jhumka #Black metal jhumka #Bangles #White Stone necklace set #american diamond earrings #western earrings for women #Kallos #jewelry design #Jewellery set #jewelry collection

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hrsdecorandfashion · 1 month ago

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Affordable Home Decor Items Affordable home décor doesn’t have to compromise on style or quality. With a thoughtful selection of budget-friendly items, you can refresh your space without overspending. Add personality to your walls with framed prints, minimalist posters, or decorative wall decals that are easy to install and change seasonally. Soft furnishings like cotton throw pillows, fleece blankets, and machine-washable rugs instantly make a room feel cozy and inviting. Decorative storage baskets, faux plants, and ceramic vases offer both function and visual appeal, helping keep your home organized and stylish. LED fairy lights, affordable table lamps, and textured lampshades bring a warm, ambient glow to any corner.

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esimsterlookbook · 11 months ago

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Please let me know if any links aren't working and I'll do my best to update them!

Base Sim:

Twisted Cat LashesRed Ear Cat's Scar / Peachyfaerie's Lily Contour Breezytrait acne / Magic Hand Eyebrows N40 / Nesurii skin details / Ok-ruee skin details / Nell's Bruised Knees / Llumisims Lily Non-default skin / Miiko Rhea Skin Details / Praline Sims Clevage Pack 01 / Sammi_xox Nose and Lip Masks / Kijiko's remove EA eyelashes / Praline Sims Odd Eye. / Praline Sims Jetlag N20 Eyebag

Everyday:

Nightcrawler Buttercup Hair / Plaza Sims Untamed Set Top / AxA Chloe Jeans Graphics / BED and Musae Sungsudong Chelsea Boots / Giulietta Sims Moon Chain Earrings / Darte_77 03 Bracelet / Blue Craving Piercing Mouth 4 / Praline Sims Immunity Septum / Simpliciaty's Lilith Rings Both / Gorilla x3 Heart Ring Chain Choker / Breezytrait Florence makeup / Lady Simmer's Drink of my sisters liner / Lady Simmer's midnight eye shadow / Lady Simmer's oh he's sorry lipstick / Giulietta Sims Long Edge Gothic Nails

Formal:

S-Club Ada Hair / Reina May Gothic Dress / Ellone Helene Boots / Caio Dainty Necklace / Enrique24 Jane Earrings / Simpliciaty Elise Rings both / Blue Craving Piercing Mouth 4 /Praline Sims Immunity Septum / Praline Sims Lip N238 Underworld / Evil Quinzel Heartwood Eyeshadow / Praline Sims Eyeliner N82 / Northern Siberia Winds Blush N5+Highlighter

Sleep:

Nightcrawler Petal Hair / Gorilla x3 Casual T-Shirt /Rimings Lazy Sunday Short Pants

Party:

Hezeh Hair No16 / PLB Sims Puppet Top / Plaza Sims' untamed skirt 2 / Shoetopia Obscurus ankle boots / Simpliciaty Aubrey rings - both / Blue Craving Piercing Mouth 4 / Praline Sims Earrings Agony v7 / Praline Sims Immunity Septum / PLB Sims Untouchable Necklace / AxA Yoshi Tights / Breezytrait Florence makeup / PralineSims Eyeshadow 91 Macchiato / Praline Sims Lipstick N237 Icon

Swim:

Nightcrawler Petal Hair / Senate Tara Bikini Top / Senate Tara Bikini Bottom / ArethaBee Jayleen Sunglasses / Giulietta Sims Mutliple Bangles / Simpliciaty Dolly Rings / S-Club TS4 Bracelet 202013 / Blue Craving Piercing Mouth 4 / Suzue Piercing N58 / Praline Sims Immunity Septum / Trillyke Candyfloss Belly Chains / ArethaBee Milena Necklace / R Raven Garter

Hot Weather:

Nightcrawler Buttercup Hair / Plaza Sims Untamed Set Corset / Busara-tr Leather Metallic Skirt / BED and Musae Sungsudong Chelsea Boots / ArethaBee Jayleen Sunglasses / Bobur Bracelet 05 R / Christopher067 Tori Necklace / Simpliciaty Dolly Rings / Blue Craving Piercing Mouth 4 / Ellone 2024 Freya Garter / Lady Simmer Glossy Babe Eyeshadow / Praline Sims Blush N78 Mocha / Praline Sims Lip N232 Paradise / Praline Sims Eyeliner 125 Cruel

Cold Weather:

Nightcrawler Buttercup Hair / Rimings Casual Set Cross Ring Beanie / PLB Sims Untouchable T-Shirt / Euno y2k Wide Jeans / Jius Leather Platform Oxford 01 / Rimings butterfly choker / Murphy T True Ring Set / Giulietta Sims Moon Chain Earrings / Blue Craving Mouth Piercing 4 / Praline Sims Immunity Septum Piercing / Northern Siberia Winds Eyeliner N5 / Northern Siberia Winds Lip Liner N1 / Lady Simmer Moonlit eyeshadow / Northern Siberia Winds Lips N39

#ts4 cc lookbook #the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 lookbook #ts4 cc #ts4 cc finds #ts4 cc free #ts4 custom content #ts4 cas #sims 4 cc #sims 4 y2k #sims 4 punk #sims 4 clothing #sims 4 cc clothes #Victoria #alpha cc #alpha cc lookbook #maxis mix

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ladykailitha · 4 months ago

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Caged Bird Extra Scene

Hehe, so a couple people commented in my discord (DM for linkie if you want to join, it's fun!) that they loved the detail about Steve hearing the band coming in the hotel lobby from the sounds of their chains.

So this is dedicated to @bookworm0690, @dreamercec and @forgottenkanji who wanted it in the last chapter but sadly no place to slide it into so I wrote this instead.

Set in the "The Caged Bird Still Sings" universe somewhere after they got together but before the epilogue (which will be in the last chapter next week).

Steve was still getting used to how close Eddie was with his bandmates. Like 'zero boundaries' levels of close. Which he didn't have a problem with as long they weren't actively having sex, which they had a signal for, soo...

But there were little things that Steve was starting to pick up about Eddie's friends.

None of them like oatmeal cookies, but loved the hell out Steve's no-bake cookies which had oatmeal in them.

"It's the chocolate!" Brian insisted. "Chocolate can hide a multitude of sins and that includes oatmeal."

Steve just shook his head.

Most of the band had favorite metal bands. Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Pantera, Black Sabbath, Metallica, but if you named a glam metal band you would be shouted down. So Steve made sure to steer clear of names like Bon Jovi, Guns N' Roses, and especially Van Halen.

Eddie hated being compared to Eddie Van Halen. "Oooh you're both metal band lead singers named Eddie!" Fuck off with that shit.

One thing that Steve made sure to never bring up ever. Not even to Robin was how much the two of them looked alike. It was actually a little haunting to be honest.

Another thing he learned as a consequence of hanging out with the quartet on a regular basis. The amount of chains and jewelry they wore all the time.

He wasn't sure that they even knew they did it. The jewelry or chains themselves might change, but the amount they wore never did.

Eddie had his chain and leather bracelet, the two chains on his waist, one on his belt, the other on his wallet. He had his pick necklace and a couple of chains around his neck. On his hands were the half of a dozen oversized rings. And then there were the safety pins. The most were on the sleeve of his leather jacket, but sometimes on things like his boots or pants.

Jeff had a bunch of bangles on both his wrists and three chains on his belt. He didn't like anything around his neck but he had a chain that went from his lobe to an orbital piercing in his right ear.

Brian had the least amount of things that clinked, but he had enough. Two leather and chain bracelets, but they were more cuff like then Eddie's single band, one on each wrist. He then had two chains on his neck and single one on his belt.

Gareth didn't like having anything on his wrists, so his jewelry were mostly on his waist and around his neck. His earrings kept getting caught in his hair so while his ears were pierced he hadn't worn anything there in years. He had three chains on each side of his waist, and about a half dozen chains and necklaces around his neck. All varying lengths of course, but he jangled the most.

So Steve developed an ear for being able to tell who was coming.

He was sitting in the hotel lobby reading the newspaper as he often did after working out in the gym with a cup of coffee and a nice pain au chocolat when he heard the jangling.

"I hope you didn't forget Brian at the store again," he teased from behind his newspaper.

Then suddenly the jangling came to an abrupt stop.

"Hey there, little Canary," Eddie said with a note of amusement and a whole chorus of amazement in his voice. "How did you know that Bri wasn't with us? Did you see us come in?"

Steve lowered his newspaper to look up at his boyfriend. He snorted, "No," and went back to paper.

"Uh..." Jeff said, his voice filled with something like concern. "Then how did you know Bri wasn't with us?"

Steve huffed out a small giggle. "You all have a specific sound. The quiet under clinking of Brian's minimalism in his dress was lacking, so he clearly wasn't with you."

He cocked his head to the side. "And here he comes now."

"Hey, assholes!" Brian growled. "Next time get the god damned porters to grab your bags. I'm not a fucking pack mule."

All three of the other Corroded Coffin boys turned at once to Brian, wide-eyed in shock.

Brian blinked at them for a moment and then sighed. "All right, Stevie, what new amazing thing have you come up with this time?"

The shocked faces turned back to see Steve's smirk from over the top of the newspaper.

"Identifying how many you are and which ones by how much sound you make when you walk up."

Brian tilted his head, considering and then nodded. "Yeah that tracks."

Eddie sputtered for a moment and then pulled Steve to his feet to kiss him senseless.

"My super smart, Stevie," he breathed once they both came up for air.

Steve blushed.

"Is anyone going to take these bags!?" Brian yelled and suddenly the other three offenders went and collected their things.

Steve burst out laughing. God he loved all of these goofs. Eddie obviously came out on top, but he loved the others too.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailitha writes #rockstar eddie munson #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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lsunstreakerl · 5 months ago

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yup, you guessed it, more darkbull. 1.5k words, Max, Daniel, and Carlos. Max POV pre-kidnapping, where nothing is weird and everything is fine! (again: darkbull)

"I thought the FIA had a jewelry rule?"

Max tilts his head at Christian as the Cartier associate carefully screws the bracelet together. Christian is watching from where he's standing next to Max, eyes laser focused on each rotation of the screw.

"Christian?"

Christian startles before looking at Max with a reassuring smile, gently bumping his shoulder.

"They're lax on it, and the car is fast enough that a few pieces of jewelry aren't going to hurt."

Max nods as the associate lets go of the first bangle, carefully securing the second around his wrist.

There's two of them, so they'll clink together whenever Max moves his hand. They're gold, embedded with diamond and sapphire and rubies. The way they glint in the light is addictive, and Max keeps letting his eyes drift back down. "Redbull" is engraved on the inside, which is nice of them, giving him a gift like this.

They've given him gifts before, but this one settles warm in Max's chest. He's not temporary to them like some other drivers- they're proving it right now, name pressed against his pulse point.

He's pretty sure Danny and Carlos don't have these, but they'd recently given him a gift as well- he has a necklace resting between his collarbones, linked rings at the hollow of his throat. It's got some kind of weird clasp that Max can't figure out, so it's a good thing it's waterproof.

The associate sets the tool back down, passing Christian two boxes to hold the bracelets if Max ever needs them somewhere for safekeeping. Christian takes them, but he pockets the dust bag with the tool in it. Max should probably ask him for that later, just in case he needs to remove them for something, but Christian is already nudging him to stand, so he shelves the thought for some other time.

Max stands, lets the weight of the bracelets settle on his wrist, cool metal against his skin. It's nice, a physical reminder that the team cares about him.

Not that he's doubted it, necessarily. He's so grateful to them for everything they've done- if GP hadn't been there for him when Jos disappeared, Max isn't sure what he would've done. Fallen to pieces, probably.

But Redbull had been there. They'd supported him, helped take so many things off of his hands so that he had room to breathe.

The Lambiase's had moved him into their home, and Alice had swooped in to help him handle his finances- he's got savings accounts and investment accounts that he doesn't even know the names of, trusts her to handle it.

Everyone at the factory is so kind, and they're so present, always right where Max needs them. It's incredible, really.

Carlos and Danny have been amazing as well. Max isn't sure how he managed to swing both of them, but it certainly makes life easier- he doesn't need to worry about a partner that gets frustrated with the race schedule, or having to leave someone behind whenever he travels.

It had been Max and Carlos first, and Max remembers how easy it had been. There had been a time, right at the beginning before Jos disappeared, where he and Carlos had been somewhat at each other's throats, just because it was what their fathers did.

Afterwards, though.

The first time Max had run into him in the hallway after Jos was gone and tried to muster up the anger, tried to piss off Carlos in the way that had once been so easy-

He'd gotten choked up halfway through, the weight of everything pressing down on him, and Carlos had softened, pulled Max into hug.

After that, Carlos had been everywhere. It was like he'd appointed himself as Max's emotional support, sticking by his side. They compared data and did sim runs together, they grabbed lunch at the same time, Carlos sat on his left side during meetings. (Never his right- that was GP's spot.)

It had been a natural progression from there. It had been one of their sim days, Carlos casually watching over Max's shoulder as he set purple sectors around Spa. He'd been kind to Max all day- little things, like bringing him coffee, brushing his fingers across the small of his back, telling him after every lap what a good job he was doing.

It had started to sink into Max's brain, making him wait for whatever Carlos decided to tell him next, warm breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

Sure enough, his best lap time yet- Carlos had leaned over and kissed him, achingly gentle. Max hadn't even thought about the fact that some of the engineering team could see them, didn't even realize until later that night while he was trying to fall asleep.

The only indication the team had given was a brief talk from Christian- that if Carlos did anything Max wasn't okay with, to immediately go to him or GP.

Otherwise, there's never been any kind of conversation about PDA, even when Max was expecting it. Carlos certainly isn't subtle- he gives kisses all the time, likes to come up and just have his arms around Max. It's never even phased the team, which Max is a bit impressed by. They simply continue as normal.

Max has never had to worry about Carlos making him uncomfortable either. Carlos is steady and reassuring, broad chest and broader shoulders, likes to wrap his arms around Max and sway them to whatever music is playing. He's tactile, which is good, because Max has found he likes to always be touching people. He hadn't known that about himself when he was with Jos- all touch had been bad.

Now, he knows he can lean against team members, can wrap himself around Carlos or Danny like some kind of octopus and trust them to hold his weight.

(Mostly. He'd done it to Danny by the pool once and the fucker had just lifted him and cannonballed them both into the water, laughing the entire time.)

Max pauses, steps stuttering briefly, and Christian immediately turns to check on him.

"Max?"

One of Max's hands comes up to fiddle with the rings at his throat.

"Christian, the fourth driver- what if they don't get along with any of us?"

Christian furrows his brows, frowning slightly.

"Max, we wouldn't take on a driver that doesn't like you."

Max wraps the chain around his index finger, coiling it up before letting it fall again.

"Not just me- what if they don't like Danny or Carlos?"

Christian's face smooths out in understanding.

"I see. Max, I don't care if we have to go through the entire development program, or if we have to snatch from another team- we'll find someone. Driver compatibility is important to me. You, Daniel, and Carlos have something really good going. We'll find someone that enhances it."

He steps forward, curling his palm around the back of Max's neck, warm and heavy.

"If you ever don't like someone on the crew- just tell me. We'll get it worked out."

Max feels his shoulders relax, both at Christian's words and the reassuring gesture. It's nice that the team takes his comfort so seriously. It helps him be the best possible driver for them.

Still- he's learning to be a little bit more careful with his grievances. He'd half-heartedly complained about someone to Danny the other day after the race, and the next time they'd had a meeting-

The man was gone. Nobody mentioned it, and the new girl was very nice, introduced herself to Max and everything. He's sure there's more to it than just his complaint, but he doesn't want to be the straw breaking the camels back for some poor employee.

Unless they're really rude.

------

Triple headers are rough, and Max doesn't always want to go all the way back home between races, so he's dropping his stuff off in his room at the factory. His keycard beeps against the door, but he can smell food when he steps in, and the lights are on already.

Max sets his duffel down at the entryway, poking his head around the corner. Daniel is leaning against his fridge, scrolling his phone while Carlos messes with something on top of the stove.

He feels himself relax. He hasn't said anything, but triple headers stress him out a bit, make him feel more on edge than normal.

For both Danny and Carlos to be here, soft and domestic-

It makes him less nervous about the upcoming weeks.

Daniel spots him in the doorway, tucking his phone into his pocket as he grins, opening his arms.

Max drops into them, smells Danny's coconut shampoo from where his hair is wet and curled by his ears.

There's a warm weight against his back a moment later, Carlos bracketing them both in.

Max lets them both support him for a few minutes, decompressing.

"I did not think you both would be here yet."

Daniel tilts Max's head up to kiss him, soft and sweet. Carlos has his hands on his waist, heat burning over his hips like a brand.

"We wanted to come in a little bit sooner."

His voice is low against Max's back, and he can feel the vibrations of it through his chest.

Max is fine with that.

#darkbull verse #ficlet #once again they're being soft and sappy #yeah max of course you can take that jewelry off #just don't try it #it might get stuck somehow

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charles-leclerizz · 1 year ago

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EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]

🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance

🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]

🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS

🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,

“Bahrain 2025”

And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.

The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.

She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.

The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.

Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.

“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.

“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.

The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”

Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.

Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.

“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”

Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.

“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”

Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.

“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”

She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.

“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”

“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.

Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.

The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.

This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.

“Lewis”

Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.

“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”

Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”

“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.

“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”

“Max”

Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”

“Aisha Patel.”

Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.

“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”

Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “

“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.

“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”

“Charles”

The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.

“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”

Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“You’re excited to compete against her?”

“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.

“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.

“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.

“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.

“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.

The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.

Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.

“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”

Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”

She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.

“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.

“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”

“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.

“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.

Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.

“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.

“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.

Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.

Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.

Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.

“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.

A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.

“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.

“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.

“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.

“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”

“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.

“I did not!”

“What the fuck.”

Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.

“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.

“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”

“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,

“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”

The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.

“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.

“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”

Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.

“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.

“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”

“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.

“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,

“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.

Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”

Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.

Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.

“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.

“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”

“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.

“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.

Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”

The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.

“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.

She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.

Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.

“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.

“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.

Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.

Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”

Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.

“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”

The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.

The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.

“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.

“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.

“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting. We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”

“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.

“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”

Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”

“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”

Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”

She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.

“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”

Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”

“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”

“That would be great, please do.”

“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”

[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]

“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.

“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.

The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.

Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.

The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.

With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.

The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.

We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”

“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.

“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”

The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.

“Right Lando- “

The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.

“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”

The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”

Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”

“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”

Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “

“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”

Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”

“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”

“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.

The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”

“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”

“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.

“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.

We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.

The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.

Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.

Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”

“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”

Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.

“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.

“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.

“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”

Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.

Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”

Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.

“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.

“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.

Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”

Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“

“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”

A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.

“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”

She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.

“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.

“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.

“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.

“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.

The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”

“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.

“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.

“Oh…I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.

Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.

Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.

The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”

Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”

She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.

“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.

“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”

Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.

She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.

Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.

“WOO! P3!”

“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”

“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.

“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.

“I got this.”

Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.

She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.

“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.

The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.

“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“

Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.

“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.

The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”

Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.

“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”

“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.

The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,

“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”

A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.

She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.

“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.

Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.

“Aisha! Aisha!” They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.

Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,

“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.

“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.

“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”

Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.

Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.

“How were you feeling during that moment?”

“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”

He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,

“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.

“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.

“Oh, hey Aisha-“

“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.

“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”

“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.

Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.

Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.

“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.

Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,

“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.

“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.

The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”

Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.

Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.

Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face

The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.

“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”

Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”

“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”

“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”

“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”

Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.

“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”

“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,

“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.

Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.

Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”

“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.

Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”

Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”

“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.

Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.

Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.

Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.

With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.

“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”

Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”

“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.

Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.

“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”

“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.

“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.

“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.

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